


still not scott's worst idea

by jontracy



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Haunted Houses, Humor, John doesn't deserve this, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jontracy/pseuds/jontracy
Summary: In which Alan is too young for a haunted house but takes matters into his own hands (or feet), and John is going tokillScott.





	still not scott's worst idea

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this post](http://wonderavian.tumblr.com/post/154353085855/alan-worst-non-ir-related-panic-youve-ever-had) by [wonderavian](http://wonderavian.tumblr.com) and I couldn't help myself. I realize it's nowhere near Halloween but _ask me if I care_.

John knew from the start that the haunted house was a terrible idea. You never thought they would get to you, until you were standing in a darkened room, strobe lights assaulting your optic nerves and strangers jumping out at you. He’d warned Scott, but his brother had already fallen way too deep down the rabbit hole of Halloween spirit, and there was no talking him out of it. And of course Alan was at that age where he wanted to do everything just like his big brother, and he’d insisted on going in as well.

Which meant that John had little choice but to follow the two of them away from the safe, welcoming activity of the state fair and into the haunted house, casting a dubious look at the sign that warned of live actors and an “interactive experience.” John may have been more into science and math than English, but he knew that didn’t bode well.

“Scott, I really think Alan’s too young-”

“I’m not a _baby_ , Johnny!” Alan insisted, full of righteous indignation.

As if to prove his point, he let go of John’s hand, which he’d been holding up until then, and marched ahead of his brothers, nose in the air. John sighed and shook his head at Scott.

“I’m holding you personally responsible for anything that happens.”

“Oh, don’t be such a worrywart,” Scott told him. “He’ll be fine. He has us here to watch out for him if he gets scared.”

So they started their way through the house. The first room wasn’t as bad as John had feared; just a dungeon scene with a few mangled corpses. John frowned at one of them as they passed it. With all the technology available in 2051, you’d think they could at least make a beheaded body look real. He even had to stop Alan from running his fingers through what looked far more like strawberry jam than it did clotting blood.

“See?” Scott said cheerfully. “He’s fine.”

“He’s trying to eat the set, Scott.”

But still, they pushed forward. The deeper they got, the better the effects became. Even John felt a chill start to creep up his spine when a ghostly woman with a line of dark blood across her throat and a mess of gaping wounds marring her beautiful face stretched her hand out to him, as if in mournful supplication. Alan’s eyes grew steadily wider, his movements a little more hesitant. He stopped trying to push ahead so much, and hung closer to his brothers.

“We can go if you want, Al,” John told him, steering them around a concerningly realistic skeleton stretched out on a rack. But the six-year-old just gave him a defiant look. The strobe lights bleached his fair hair and skin, making him look a bit like a ghost himself.

“I’m not scared,” he proclaimed.

He raced through the next doorway ahead of the other two. A moment later, there was a flash of movement, accompanied by a theatrical growl.

The most ear-piercing shriek John had ever had the misfortune of hearing rent the air, sounding like a pterodactyl on fire. John clapped his hands over his ears as a pale blur rushed towards him, still emitting that ungodly scream, and then Alan was crouched behind him, clinging to one of his legs. A much deeper voice was shouting now, and using language John really hoped Alan didn’t know yet. He reached instinctively for Scott, his eyes straining through the darkness as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

“Forget this,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. He shone the flashlight in front of him. He blinked. “Uh oh.”

“Did he…?” Scott’s voice sounded slightly strangled as they stared down at the goblin writhing on the floor.

“Oh yeah,” John answered grimly.

Alan Tracy, all of six years old and three and a half feet tall, had reduced a grown man to a swearing mess on the floor with a kick to a very lamentable place.

…And then the unfortunate actor wasn’t the only one on the floor. Scott _lost_ it, sliding to the ground with his hands over his face as he laughed so uncontrollably hard that he was barely making any noise. Alan was still wailing like a tornado siren and clinging to John’s leg like it was the tallest tree in a flood, and John was starting to lose feeling in his toes.

Never in his life had he been more jealous of Virgil, who’d won their coin toss and was at Gordon’s swim meet with Dad.

Other actors were starting to approach the scene now, and the patrons behind the Tracy boys were starting to poke their heads curiously into the room.

“All right, time to go,” John declared. He prized Alan off of his leg and picked him up in one arm. He nudged Scott with his toe. “Come on, Scott. I’m not going to carny jail for you. Get up.”

And Scott, to his credit, did try, but the second he laid eyes on the still-swearing goblin, he lost it again. Alan’s unfortunate victim was actually managing to _increase_ in volume as he continued to unleash a flood of invective, and John was a little worried about how inventive the language was getting. Alan himself had his little arms wrapped around John’s neck now, and breathing was becoming a challenge.

“Alan, hands over your ears, buddy,” he wheezed as he knelt down to grab Scott by the arm. Alan just squeezed him tighter.

John dragged his brothers out of the house. Scott tried to help, but he kept looking at Alan and collapsing into fits of giggles. Alan continued to be decidedly unamused.

Finally, they were passing by the girl taking tickets at the door. She looked past them, bewildered, as the spooky soundtrack abruptly cut out mid-werewolf howl and the lights came on. Dear God, were they actually _closing the place down_?

“Yeah, some kid kicked one of the actors in the, er, goods,” John told the ticket girl, straight-faced. He resolutely ignored the fresh explosion of stifled giggles this induced from beside him. Scott was a dead man. “You should probably go check to make sure everyone’s okay.”

She raised an eyebrow, but went to do as he suggested. He turned to call after her.

“And, uh, whoever did this, I’m sure they’re very sorry!”

Were those actual  _tears_ in Scott’s eyes?

*****

Despite attempted bribes of funnel cake, stuffed toys, and bumper cars, Alan still hadn’t let go of John by the time Dad came to pick them all up an hour later.

“Have fun, boys?” he asked them brightly.

“I did!” Scott declared as he exercised his eldest sibling shotgun rights and dislodged Virgil from the front seat. He grinned back at his brothers. “We learned Alan can take pretty good care of himself, and we’ll never have to worry about losing him in a crowd. What about you, Johnny? Did you have a good time?”

John just glowered at him.

“No comment.”

“What about you, Alan?” Dad smiled at his youngest as he took him from John’s arms at last and buckled him into his carseat beside Gordon, whose pleased expression suggested that his afternoon had gone considerably better than his brothers’. “Did you have a good time, kiddo?”

“Fuck, no,” Alan said with every ounce of vehemence in his tiny body.

Dad froze, his eyes widening. Slowly, he looked up at John. Without an ounce of remorse, John pointed silently at his older brother. Scott gulped as Dad rounded on him.

“Scott. Carpenter. Tracy.”

It was _way_ scarier than the haunted house.


End file.
